


i've got my heart set on what happens next

by firefall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Food Fights, Friends to Lovers, Harry Keeps Putting Stuff In His Hair, Multi, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Polyamory, Secret Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefall/pseuds/firefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Even as he tries to protest, Louis knows it’s no good.  There’s no stopping Harry once he gets an idea into his head.  And judging from the enthusiastic whoops from Zayn and Liam as they lean over to see what Harry’s written down, Louis knows he’s outnumbered three to one.</i>  </p><p>
  <i>“Fine,” he groans, throwing his head back to slam against the top of the couch.  “We’ll do it your way.  But if you ruin my life, I’m going to kill all three of you.”</i>
</p><p>Or: Louis' bandmates help him woo Niall and ruin his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've got my heart set on what happens next

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foundfamilyvevo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundfamilyvevo/gifts).



> This is for foundfamilyvevo's prompt: "louis is trying to work up the courage to ask niall out - the other boys decide to pitch in and 'help', and along the way they all discover it might work better if they just all date each other instead."
> 
> Warnings for: a couple swears here and there. Nothing major.
> 
> Many thanks and kisses to A.H. for being the best cheerleader ever and reading the Thing for me! Your encouragement was more helpful than you could ever imagine. Love you! Also: thank you to the mods of the exchange...you guys rock!
> 
> This ended up being more Louis-centric than I originally planned, but [Louis' tattoo voice] IT IS WHAT IT IS. I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Title is from "This Is Home" by Switchfoot.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anyone portrayed in this fic and am making no judgments about their personalities and personal lives. BUT if any 1D members see this, I gotta know...is nouis real even a little bit??

“It’s pretty ugly, innit?”

 

Louis’ forehead crinkles in concern when he looks up from his phone to find Niall gazing forlornly down at his knee.  He keeps running his index finger up and down the giant scar left behind after his surgery, his lip bitten between his teeth as if he’s trying not to say more.  It makes Louis a little sad.

 

“Nah, mate…it’s a scar.  It’s supposed to look like that,” Louis reminds him softly, dropping his phone onto the little table in their dressing room and turning to give Niall his undivided attention.  “It’s there because you got all fixed up.”

 

Niall just shrugs, clearly unconvinced.  He looks and sounds much younger than he is when he adds, “I don’t like it.”

 

The thought of Niall not liking something about himself is so abhorrent to Louis, he feels his stomach sink a bit.  Desperately wracking his brain for some sort of solution – for a way to take that _look_ off of Niall’s face – Louis’ eyes land on Zayn’s sketchbook across the room, a black Sharpie marker resting on top.

 

Without another thought, Louis propels himself off the couch, grabbing the Sharpie and plopping down on the floor at Niall’s feet.  “No, you see…you just haven’t been looking at it correctly!” he tells Niall, flashing him a big smile.  He uncaps the marker and gently pushes up the hem of Niall’s shorts until the entire scar is visible, about seven inches long and glaring red.  Louis can’t help but run soothing fingers over the raised line.  His surgery must have been so painful.

 

“Louis…?” Niall says quietly and he sounds unsure, a far cry from the bouncing, confident boy that had dragged Louis out of bed to play Segway dodgeball in the carpark just this morning.

 

Louis gives him a light smack on the thigh, successfully shutting him up.  “Watch this!” he orders, pausing to grin up at Niall for just a second before he goes to work, tracing the marker down the entire length of the scar.  Digging his fingers into Niall’s skin just a little bit, he adds an arrowhead at each end of the line, coloring in until the injury is barely visible.  When he’s finally satisfied, he sits back to admire his artwork.  “There you go,” he says, proudly holding Niall’s leg up for him to see.  “Your first tattoo!”

 

Finally, a small smile pulls at Niall’s lips and he shakes his head, amused.  “Looks mad,” he admits, leaning over to see it better.  “Might get it tattooed for real.”

 

“As long as you credit me,” Louis starts to joke, but the words die in his throat when he feels Niall’s fingers twist into his hair, carefully pushing it out of his face.  When he looks up, Niall’s eyes are soft and so blue.  “Thanks,” Niall whispers, his thumb smudging against the stubble on Louis’ jawline, making a shiver run up his spine.  “You make things not so scary.”

 

All of a sudden, Louis can’t think of anything but kissing him.  It smacks him in the face and he can feel himself going red with it – he actually has to press his hand to his lips to make sure he doesn’t do something he’ll regret.  “You’re welcome,” he chokes out, promptly burying his face in the couch cushion next to Niall.  “I try my best.”

 

The answering pat on the bum only makes him burrow deeper.

 

\---

 

It’s not like Louis expected his announcement to be earthshattering or something, but he’s still a little peeved that when he flings his arms out wide and declares, “I want to kiss Niall!” his boys don’t even react.  Zayn blinks at him then goes back to fiddling with his Nokia while Liam tries his best to braid a pencil into Harry’s hair.  He’s doing it all wrong – Lou’s going to have a hell of a time getting all those knots out before their concert tonight – but Louis spitefully refuses to help him out.

 

“Did you hear what I just said?” he yelps, looking at them in disbelief.  “I said I want to kiss Niall!”

 

Letting out a deep sigh that’s just completely unnecessary, Harry finally untangles himself from Liam’s spindly limbs and takes two long strides until he’s standing right in front of Louis.  “It’s okay!” he says grandly, the pencils in his hair wobbling ridiculously.  He grabs Louis by the face, squishing his cheeks a little and making Louis look him straight in the eye.  “We understand, Louis!  And just remember that you’re not feeling something that millions haven’t felt before you.”

 

Louis wrenches away from Harry like he’s been burned.  “I’m not trying to have _that_ conversation with you!” he cries, flapping his hands helplessly in a way that he hopes communicates just how much he wants Harry to stop talking immediately.  “That’s not what this is!”

 

“Though he does have a point, bro,” Zayn muses from the couch, scratching at his beard philosophically.  “There are countless millions that want to kiss Niall, have wanted to kiss Niall, or are going to want to kiss Niall.  It’s not really a novel concept.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes.  “Well, sorry for being late to the party,” he snaps, then whips around to point an accusing finger at Liam.  “What about you, Payno…have _you_ ever wanted to kiss Niall?”

 

Liam instantly goes red and he fumbles the leftover pencils, dropping a couple of them to the floor.  He clears his throat awkwardly, coughing out a high-pitched “Um, yes?” that makes Louis’ eyes widen in surprise.

 

“Really?” he says, taken aback.  His eyes only get wider when Zayn and Harry exchange sheepish glances and nod in affirmation, grinning behind their hands like five year olds.  “Why was I never informed that this was a thing we were doing?”

 

His boys are giggling too much to answer and Louis can feel his face going pink.  He contemplates flouncing away in annoyance, but Liam bails him out, speaking up from his spot on the floor, “It’s not that big a deal, man.  If you wanna kiss him, do it!  Just walk right up and lay one on him…it’s not like he’d mind.”

 

Louis thinks about it for a second – it really would be easy.  It’s Niall…the whole world is easy with him.  Then he shakes his head.  “No,” he says slowly, falling onto the couch and pulling Harry back down with him.  “No, I think I want more than that.  I think I want to date him.”  He’d never really admitted it before, but as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he knows it’s true.  Niall is important…he’s always been important.  Louis just hadn’t realized until today that he might be the _most_ important.

 

Zayn makes an embarrassing cooing sound, wrapping his arm around Louis’ shoulders and cuddling him close.  “Well, you’ve got our full support, mate,” he assures him, leaning so close that his stubble scratches against Louis’ cheek, making him shiver.  “And you couldn’t have better taste, honestly.”

 

Warmed by his friend’s words, Louis lays his head on Zayn’s shoulder and lets his eyes fall closed.  It’s been a long, emotional day full of discovery and surprise and Louis thinks they deserve a group nap before they have to go onstage.  Just as he’s about to suggest they find Niall and curl up somewhere, Harry starts wiggling next to him, jostling the entire couch.  Louis’ eyes fly open.  “What’s the matter with you?”

 

Harry’s got himself nearly bent in half, yanking at his hair and mumbling under his breath.  As Louis watches with barely concealed amusement, the “braids” just get tighter and the knots just get bigger until Harry finally pulls away with a triumphant _aha_ , a pencil clutched in his hand.   “If you’re going to woo Niall, we need to make a plan!” Harry exclaims gleefully, grabbing a stray piece of paper from the coffee table.  He starts scribbling on it almost immediately.

 

“What?” Louis gawks at him.  He can feel the situation slipping out of his control and he doesn’t like it very much.  “I was just going to _ask_ him!”

 

Harry gasps like Louis’s actually hurt him.  He slams the paper down onto his thighs in disgust.  “This is _Niall_ we’re talking about, Louis!  He deserves the best…he deserves the _world_!  Why do you want to settle for mediocrity?”

 

Even as he tries to protest, Louis knows it’s no good.  There’s no stopping Harry once he gets an idea into his head.  And judging from the enthusiastic whoops from Zayn and Liam as they lean over to see what Harry’s written down, Louis knows he’s outnumbered three to one. 

 

“ _Fine_ ,” he groans, throwing his head back to slam against the top of the couch.  “We’ll do it your way.  But if you ruin my life, I’m going to kill all three of you.”

 

“Sure you will,” Liam says dismissively, waving him away.  “I’ll be sure to mention that in my best man speech.”

 

\---

 

As much as Louis hates the idea of “wooing” Niall, he has to admit that his boys have some pretty good ideas.  He’s had to cull some of the more outrageous suggestions – he is _not_ buying Niall a live elephant, no matter how much he likes them – but Harry’s little cheat sheet has proved to be more helpful than not.  Which is why it’s folded up nicely and tucked into Louis’ jeans pocket, a red circle around _just do something romantic._

 

In his other pocket, his walkie-talkie squawks, Liam’s voice filling the air with crackling interference.  A woman across the street turns to look at him in confusion and Louis just smiles at her, continuing down the sidewalk.  “Agent Tommo, this is Big Payno reporting for duty.  Over.”

 

Extracting the radio from his skinny jeans is no easy feat, so Louis’ response is delayed when he finally presses the PTT and answers, “Alright, good.  Big Payno, what is your position?”

 

Instead of reporting, Liam sighs at him over the line.  “You didn’t say ‘over’!  Over.”

 

Of _course_ Liam cares about that.  Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Louis stops in the middle of the sidewalk to make a face at the walkie-talkie as if Liam will be able to feel it on the other side.  “Whatever.  Just tell me where you are.  Over.”

 

“I’m standing outside The Flower Patch downtown.  I’ve been casing the place for the past fifteen minutes and it seems promising.  I’ve seen people walk out with at _least_ two different kinds of flowers.”  Louis snorts.  “Agent Tommo, what is your ETA?  Over.”

 

“T minus three minutes,” Louis reports, quickening his steps.  He knows the flower shop is about four blocks away on the left side – he wants to get there as fast as possible so Mission: Buy Niall The Perfect Flowers can officially commence.  The walkie-talkies and codenames had been Liam’s idea, but as Louis’ radio screeches – _You forgot ‘over’ again!_ – he can’t help but break into happy laughter.  Everything’s better when he’s doing it with Liam.

 

When he finally reaches the shop, Liam is leaning solemnly against the front picture window, his arms crossed over his chest and mirrored sunglasses covering his eyes.  “Agent Tommo,” he says seriously, nodding in Louis’ direction.  “It is an honor to be doing this mission with you.”  Then he grins brightly, breaking character just long enough to pass Louis a pair of aviators, whispering, “I brought you these!”

 

Biting back a smile, Louis takes the sunglasses and puts them on.  “Big Payno, are you ready for this?  I’m not going to lie to you…it’s going to be tough and it’s going to be grueling, but it will all be worth it when Niall and I get married and adopt seven or eight kids.”  The thought makes his stomach flip.  “Are you with me?”

 

“Every step of the way.”

 

And with that, Liam flings the shop’s door open and does a barrel roll right past the front counter.  Giggling, Louis follows suit, groaning quietly when he bangs his knee off the floor.  “Okay,” he whispers into Liam’s shoulder.  “You go right and I’ll go left, then we’ll meet at the back of the store and make our final decisions.”

 

Liam nods in agreement, his eyes already sweeping the flower-lined aisles.  “If you need anything, just radio me and I’ll be there to back you up in seconds.”  He turns to look at Louis, his face very convincingly emotional.  “Godspeed to you, Tommo.”  Then he presses a firm kiss to Louis’ forehead and crawls away to the right.

 

Louis stares after him, frozen in place for a few seconds as his mind spins to catch up and his heart nearly beats out of his chest.  He lifts a shaky hand to his forehead, wondering if he’d just imagined the whole thing.  He finally snaps out of his trance-like state when the little bell over the shop door jingles and a customer steps inside.  “To the left,” he reminds himself in a whisper, crawling past the person and into an aisle marked _Roses_.  He knows he looks silly, but he can’t be arsed to care.  He’s got a mission to complete.

 

Even from the floor, the roses are beautiful.  The shop has them in almost every color – Louis’ gaze lingers on a selection of bright blue ones that remind him of Niall’s eyes.  He reaches to grab them off the shelf, but at the last second he picks a bouquet of yellow roses instead.  Niall is bright and shiny and so, so lovely…Louis thinks that his flowers should be, too.

 

“I’ve got the goods,” he whispers into the walkie-talkie, cringing at the loud hissing sound that fills the quiet shop.  He quickly adds “over!” before Liam can whine at him. 

 

“Meeting place in thirty seconds.  Over.”

 

True to his word, Liam pops his head around the corner barely four seconds later.  “Let me see them,” he says excitedly, all pretenses of seriousness gone.  “I wanna see how you did!”

 

Proudly, Louis holds forth the yellow roses.  “Ta-dah!” he says, taking as much of a bow as he can from where he’s kneeling on the floor.  “Don’t they look great?”

 

Instead of congratulating him like Louis expected, Liam wrinkles his nose at the flowers in disgust.  “Agent Tommo!” he exclaims, taking the flowers out of Louis’ hands and setting them up on the counter.   “Yellow roses mean friendship!  Didn’t you do _any_ research for this mission?”

 

Deflated, Louis sinks down until he’s sitting flat on his bum, his feet kicked out in front of him.  “No?” he says uncertainly, feeling stupid and like a very bad secret agent.  “I didn’t know flowers had special meanings!  I just thought they were…flowers.”

 

“Nope,” Liam tells him matter-of-factly, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head to get them out of the way.  “Red means romance, pink means love and appreciation, and white means marriage.”  He’s says it like Louis should have known.

 

Louis just sighs, looking despondently up at the yellow roses.  He still thinks they look the best.  “Fine…red it is, I guess.”

 

They get to their feet, Liam offering Louis his hand to pull him up, and together they pick out a set of twelve perfect red roses.  At the counter, the shop owner raises her eyebrows at their sunglasses and walkie-talkies, but rings up Louis’ purchase without saying anything.  Louis feels his heart give a little flutter of happiness when Liam leans against his back, hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder to watch the woman carefully bag up the flowers.  When she asks him if he wants anything else, he blurts almost without thinking, “Liam, what’s your favorite flower?”

 

Liam shifts behind him, clearly surprised by the question.  “Um,” he says, circling his arms around Louis’ waist.  “I like them yellow and white ones, I think.”

 

Louis nods.  “Can I have one daisy, please?” he asks the woman and though she smirks at him knowingly, she ducks behind the counter for a few seconds before emerging with a single lovely daisy.

 

“Does this work for you?” she asks sweetly, her gaze darting between them, eyes crinkled in a smile.

 

“Yes, that’s perfect, thanks.” 

 

They only make it a few steps out the door before Louis stops, turning to Liam.  “Big Payno,” he says, falling back into character.  “I would really like you to have this.”  He pushes up onto his toes and tucks the daisy behind Liam’s ear where it rests gently against his soft hair, fluttering a bit in the wind.  Louis’ face heats up – he’s not sure why he just did that.

 

Before he can worry about it, Liam breaks into a smile so huge it looks like it hurts.  “Agent Tommo,” he says, putting a hand on each of Louis’ shoulders.  “I am grateful to be given such a large portion of your spoils, but I have to ask…what will Niall think?”

 

Laughing, Louis grabs Liam’s wrist and starts pulling him down the sidewalk back to the hotel.  Lifting the radio to his lips, he presses the PTT and tells Liam exactly how he feels.

 

“Shut up.  Over.”

 

\---

 

Louis decides to give the roses to Niall after their concert that night.  He feels like he’s going to buzz out of his skin as he runs around the stage, trying his hardest not to stare at Niall the entire time.  It’s easier said than done, because Niall is positively _glowing_.  He’d gotten a brand new guitar when they’d stopped in LA last week and it’s clearly working for him, because he hasn’t stopped bouncing around and beaming since the show started over an hour ago.

 

At one point, Niall comes over to serenade Louis, a goofy ear-to-ear grin across his face.  “When I’m not with you I’m weaker,” he sings and Louis’ heart flips inside his chest.  He turns away, embarrassed.  He needs to get a grip.  They sing to each other _all_ the time…it’s not like this is any different.

 

But he really wishes it _was_ , is the thing.

 

By the time they sing the encore, Louis feels a little bit like he’s going to die.  All he can think about is the bouquet of red roses waiting in the dressing room, all tied up with a white ribbon.  Their goodbyes seem to last _forever_ – Niall blows kiss after kiss at the screaming crowd and Louis fights the sappy smile that keeps trying to sneak its way across his face.  Niall has always been so bold and uninhibited with his love; it’s beautiful, really.  _He’s_ beautiful.

 

At the first appropriate opportunity, Louis waves to the audience, mouthing _I love you_ , and then races off the stage, his heart beating faster than it should be.  He runs down the hall, gasping an apology when he nearly knocks Caroline over, popping into the dressing room only long enough to scoop the flowers up and duck back out again.  Thankfully, he makes it backstage before Niall has even taken his guitar off.

 

“These are for you!” he blurts, thrusting the roses toward Niall and mentally smacking himself in the face.  He sounds like an idiot.  “Um…I mean…I got you these?”

 

Niall looks confused, but he grins at Louis anyway, taking the flowers and shoving his face into them to take a whiff.  “Hey thanks, mate!  These are nice,” he says, slapping Louis on the shoulder.  “But what for?”

 

Louis had spent the better part of two hours rehearsing what he would say to Niall, bouncing ideas off his boys and chewing at his fingernails until they hurt, but what comes out of his mouth is, “I don’t know.”

 

“Oh, well…thanks?” Niall says slowly, his brows knitting together as if Louis is a puzzle that he’s trying to figure out.  He doesn’t look unhappy, though, which Louis counts as a win.  Niall takes a shuffling sidestep toward their team, awkwardly murmuring, “I think I’m just gonna…”

 

That’s enough to shake Louis out of it and he desperately cries _wait!_ and grabs Niall’s hand before he can walk away.  Taking a deep, shaky breath, he admits, “I got them for you because you’re amazing, Niall!  You’re amazing and super talented and kind and I just think you need to hear it more.”

 

Even as Louis’ face flames red, Niall breaks into a genuine smile and throws his arms around Louis in a tight hug.  “I love you, bro,” he whispers into Louis’ neck, squeezing him hard.  Louis practically melts against his chest.  He’s hugged Niall many, _many_ times, but none of them had ever felt as real as this.  Louis’ entire body is warm and happy, almost like Niall is made of bright summer days and all the rest of the good things, too.

 

All too soon, Niall pulls away.  “You’re the best, Lou,” he says fondly, roughing up Louis’ hair.  He holds the flowers close to his chest.  “I’ll find a vase or bowl or something for these…it’ll be brilliant!”

 

Before Louis can say anything else, Niall whacks him on the back and goes jogging away.  Louis gapes at his retreating back, feeling lost.  “Where are you going?” he calls after him, his voice going high-pitched.  “Niall?”

 

“I’ve got a go-karting date with Josh!” Niall shouts without looking back.  “I’ll see you tomorrow…thanks for the flowers!”

 

With a dramatic groan, Louis flops flat on his ass and buries his head in his hands.  He’s in the middle of repeating “stupid, stupid, stupid!” over and over when someone pats him on the top of the head and asks, “So, how’d it go?”

 

It’s Zayn.  Louis just groans again and digs Harry’s Wooing Cheat Sheet from his pocket and passes it up to his friend.  “Just cross out _do something romantic_ ,” he says by way of explanation.  “I think we’re back to the drawing board.”

 

\---

 

Before Harry texted him the address, Louis hadn’t even known that it was possible to rent a kitchen.  And maybe it wasn’t.  Maybe it was something you could only do if you were Harry Styles…like prance around in glitter boots and tattoo a giant butterfly on your stomach.

 

And – apparently – tie wooden spoons into your hair.

 

Louis closes the door behind him, staring at Harry with something akin to reverence.  “What, were pencils not good enough for you?” he asks, laughing under his breath as Harry dimples up, the spoons swinging back and forth around his shoulders.

 

“No,” Harry answers simply and seriously.  “I’ve just found that it’s a very convenient place to store things.  I’ll never have to hold anything again!”

 

“Whatever you say, Styles.”  Louis rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop himself from snickering.  Harry really and truly is the most ridiculous, amazing person Louis has ever met and he can’t think of anyone he’d rather woo Niall with.  “So Chef Harold…what are we making today?”

 

Harry smashes a chef’s hat onto his head then gestures at the mountains of ingredients lining the counters in their giant rented kitchen.  “The world is ours,” he whispers passionately, surveying the bags and boxes like they’re his kingdom.  “We could make anything.”  Then he turns to wag his finger in Louis’ face, making Louis go cross-eyed.  “So don’t you _dare_ say parma ham!”

 

“Heyyy,” Louis protests, shoving Harry’s hand out of his space.  “That’s my favorite thing to make!”  He decides not to mention that it’s the _only_ thing he can make.

 

“But if you’re going to win Niall’s affections…”  Here Harry pulls out the crumpled piece of paper, jabbing at the line that says _make him dinner_.  It’s highlighted in pink.  “…it has to be _amazing_.  And, babe, I hate to break it to you, but your usual isn’t going to cut it!”

 

“Brave words for a boy with spoons in his hair,” Louis grumbles mostly to himself, but even as he pretends to fight, he knows he’ll do what Harry says.  Because only one of them used to be a baker and it sure as hell wasn’t Louis.

 

They flip through a stack of cookbooks until Louis’ stomach is growling with all the possibilities.  Harry keeps suggesting strange dishes with names he’s only pretending to know how to pronounce, but Louis shoots him down every time.  They’re cooking for Niall, not the Queen.  Quite frankly, they could make macaroni and cheese and Niall would love it.  But – according to Harry – “wooing” means going the extra mile.  Or something.

 

When Harry points to a recipe that contains baby eels, Louis decides to take matters into his own hands.  “We’re making lasagna,” he announces, slamming his hand down onto the table with finality.  “Everybody loves a good lasagna!”

 

Harry taps his chin, contemplating.  “Could be nice,” he admits.  “It’s not very fancy, but it’s easy to make.”  Then his eyes light up.  “We could make our own noodles!”

 

It’s like someone flicked a switch and all of a sudden Harry is running around the kitchen, gathering ingredients like some sort of cooking robot.  Louis watches in awe as the table in front of him fills up with flour and eggs and vegetables in mere seconds.  Then Harry slides a wooden spoon out of his hair with a flourish, wielding it like a scepter.  “Let’s do this!”

 

“That’s disgusting,” Louis says even as he giggles, looking at the spoon in distaste.  “I can’t let you use that on Niall’s noodles.”

 

“Oh.  Right.”  Harry runs over to the sink to wash it, calling back that Louis should measure out two cups of flour and put it in a bowl.

 

It’s true that Louis isn’t well-versed in the culinary arts, but he’d always thought he’d be a little better at measuring.  As it is, he lets out a little shriek of surprise at the cloud of flour that shoots up from the bowl, smacking him in the face and coating his eyelashes in white.  He’s stunned for a second, frozen in his chair, before he manages to speak, flour falling onto his shirt.  “Harry…?”

 

Harry takes one look at him and bursts out laughing.  “How did you even manage that?” he crows happily, laughing so hard he has to sink to the floor.  When he starts literally rolling across the tile, Louis knows he has to do something.  He is _not_ being made fun of by a boy with utensils sticking out of his head.

 

He lets out a single shout of warning and then flings himself at Harry, pinning Harry’s shoulders to the floor and sitting on his stomach.  “I’m going to get you so dirty!” he threatens gleefully, leaning over to shake his flour-covered hair at Harry’s face.  The flour falls onto him like snow.

 

Harry instantly breaks into exaggerated coughs, batting at him like a distressed kitten.  “Ack…stop it!” he cries, flipping Louis off him with an ease that’s just annoying.  “You’re gonna regret that!”  Laughing maniacally, Harry races to the counter where the bag of flour lies forgotten.  Then, his eyes glinting evilly, he dumps the entire thing over Louis’ head.

 

Louis’ whole world is white for a few seconds and then he starts screaming.  He’s not even saying words, just letting out unintelligible sounds as he swipes at his face, trying to get his sight back.  Harry, for his part, is merely sprinkled in a light dusting, grinning like Christmas morning.  Louis clenches his hands into fists, adrenaline and something else coursing through his veins.  That just won’t do.  That won’t do at all.

 

His sight set on revenge, Louis runs at Harry and wraps him in a sloppy, floury hug, making a white cloud explode from between them.  Ignoring Harry’s protests, Louis nuzzles his messy face all over Harry’s flannel shirt, grinding the flour in and dancing his fingertips up and down Harry’s sides to tickle him. 

 

By the time the front of Harry’s shirt is sufficiently covered in powder, they’re both giggling breathlessly.  Louis’ heart feels like it’s going to rip a hole in his chest and jump right out because Harry looks ridiculous – even by Harry standards – and he’s still got those stupid fucking spoons in his hair and Louis wants to kiss him so, so badly.  “What the hell,” he says out loud, because _what the hell?_  He’s not supposed to be thinking that about Harry…he’s just _not_. 

 

“What the hell, indeed,” Harry agrees, his voice rumbling low in his chest.  Louis is saved from having to look at Harry’s stupid, beautiful mess of a face when he wraps his arms tightly around Louis, giving him an affectionate squeeze.  Louis buries his face in Harry’s floury neck and closes his eyes, practically praying that the moment will pass and he can go back to how it was a few days ago – back when times were simpler and he only had a weird _thing_ for one of his bandmates, not two.  Then he flushes hot, remembering the feel of Liam’s lips on his forehead and the daisy in his hair.  Okay, make that three.

 

The longer they stand there hugging, the more willpower it takes for Louis not to tilt his head up and just do it.  But someone must have heard his prayers, because suddenly Harry sneezes into the top of Louis’ head and the moment is thoroughly and completely over.

 

\---

 

“I think I have flour in my lungs.”

 

“I think you complain too much,” Harry quips from next to him, carrying the pan of lasagna carefully, a bright red pair of oven mitts on his hands.  They must look a sight, navigating the hallway of some five-star hotel with a steaming dish and the remnants of their flour fight in their hair.  They’d managed to get most of the powder off before they left the kitchen, but Louis is suspicious that he’ll find flour in his bed for the next week.  At least they’d stopped to change their clothes on the bus before checking in at the hotel.  That probably wouldn’t have gone over too well.  “I made an entire meal for you!  All you did was turn the oven on…if anyone gets to whine, it’s me.”

 

Louis waves him away.  “Oh, whatever…you love it!”  Then he stops in front of room 243, his palms starting to sweat with nerves.  “Here’s where I leave you.” 

 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans in and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek.  “I really do appreciate it,” he adds softly, feeling sincere for a second or two.  “I never would have been able to do it without you.”

 

Harry beams beneath the praise and holds out the pan of lasagna for him to take.  “Make me proud, Lou,” he orders, nodding toward Niall’s room.  “Text me when he’s your boyfriend.”

 

With that, he raps on Niall’s door three times and then races away, leaving Louis standing there alone.

 

It’s only a couple seconds before Niall answers the door, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.  He looks exhausted and his hair is sticking out all over the place – Louis wonders with a sinking feeling if he’s getting sick.  “Did I wake you?” Louis asks, feeling increasingly stupid as he stands there with an entire pan of steaming lasagna nearly burning his fingers off.  “I’m so sorry…I thought it was early enough!”

 

“Yeah, but it’s okay, mate,” Niall yawns.  “Come on in.”  He doesn’t even mention the lasagna.

 

Once inside, Niall makes a beeline back to his bed and flops onto it face-first with a groan.  Louis awkwardly sets the dish onto the TV table then stands in the middle of the half-lit room, wringing his hands.  For some inexplicable reason, Louis feels a lump rising in the back of his throat and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, terrified that he might actually start crying.  He knows it’s stupid, but he’d had a _plan_ , dammit, and nothing is going the way it’s supposed to at _all_.

 

“Niall?” he whispers hesitantly, more embarrassed than he’d like to admit.

 

“Hmm?”  Niall sounds like he’s already well on his way back to dreamland. 

 

Louis presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes to collect himself.  “Um.  Did you see that I brought you something?  Some food?”  He cringes at how pitiful he sounds.

 

Finally Niall rolls over to look at him, his eyes only half open.  Even with his face smashed into the pillow and sheet lines all over his skin, Niall looks beautiful.  Louis’ stomach swoops and this time it’s not with nerves.  “It smells really good,” Niall tells him, his voice soft.  “But I’m too wiped out to eat right now, I think.”

 

Louis tries not to feel disappointed.  After all, Niall does look a bit like a zombie.  A very cute, Irish zombie, but a zombie all the same.  “Okay, I’ll just let you sleep, then.”

 

“Nah,” Niall disagrees so quietly Louis almost misses it.  “Join me?”

 

Louis’ mood changes in an instant.  Breaking into a smile that he can feel all the way to his toes, he nods vehemently and practically launches himself across the room to pull back the duvet and fall into bed beside Niall.  Without thinking, he scoots back until he’s settled against Niall’s body.  Luckily, Niall just hooks his arms around Louis’ waist and pulls him closer.  It’s instinctual and really, really nice.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” Louis whispers into the near-darkness.  It’s not like Niall to be holed up in his room by himself at half seven and, quite frankly, Louis is worried.  “Is it your knee?”

 

There’s a quiet sigh from next to Louis’ ear.  “It’s just been bugging me lately,” Niall admits and Louis makes a tiny noise of concern.  He fumbles to find Niall’s hands under the blankets, giving them a squeeze.  “Can’t sleep much.  Jumping around on stage doesn’t help, either.”  Then he laughs a little, letting out a puff of air that ruffles Louis’ hair.  “It looks better, though.  After you drew on it.”

 

“Glad to hear it, bro.”

 

They fall into silence, Niall’s breathing getting slower and deeper until he’s fast asleep.  Louis snuggles in as close as he can, basking in the heat radiating from Niall’s body.  He feels happy and content, regardless of the lasagna laying forgotten across the room.  Whatever…maybe they’ll have it for breakfast in the morning.  This is much more important right now.

 

\---

 

The third item on Harry’s Wooing Cheat Sheet says simply _show him you care_ , courtesy of Zayn.  After a mere ten seconds of deliberation, Louis decides to build Niall a blanket fort…because if there’s one thing he’s learned in his twenty-two years on earth, it’s that nothing says _I love you_ like a giant heap of comfy pillows.

 

Finding a place to set up camp is more difficult now that they’re on the road again.  They’re back to sleeping on the buses and driving through the day and well into the night – though Louis enjoys traveling, it’s not like the conditions are ideally suited for the masterpiece he wants to make, the masterpiece Niall _deserves_.  In the end, he has to settle for Bus 1.

 

Zayn volunteers to help him with the construction, dragging sleeping bags and pillows from their bunks and flopping them into a huge pile in the middle of the lounge area.  Louis takes a field trip to Bus 2 where he nicks Liam, Niall, and Harry’s bedding as well, grabbing Niall’s Irish flag on his way out as an afterthought. 

 

Once they’ve got a veritable mountain of blankets and pillows, they set to work.  Harry’s duvet is huge – when stretched out long ways, it reaches all the way across the bus from window to window, making it the perfect choice for the ceiling.  Crawling beneath the makeshift roof, they prop a beanbag chair in the middle to keep the ceiling from caving in too much.  Then they carpet the floor with Zayn’s soft, flannel sheets.

 

They work diligently, breaking into laughter every so often when they inevitably knock into each other or trip over a discarded pillow, but eventually they come to a dilemma.  “How are we supposed to put these walls up?” Louis asks, scratching his head.  “Like, how are they supposed to connect?”

 

They mull it over for a while, but short of asking Harry and Liam to hold the walls up Atlas-style, they don’t come up with many ideas.  Just when Louis is seriously debating recruiting his bandmates to do just that, Zayn breaks into a smile and runs from the room.  “I’ve got it!” he calls back, his voice muffled like it’s buried in one of their bunks.  “Just wait a sec!”

 

When Zayn returns, he’s holding a wad of Liam’s handkerchiefs over his head like a trophy.  Louis gives an exaggerated gasp, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.  “Where did you find those?” he asks, his voice high-pitched, even though he knows the answer.

 

“In your suitcase.”  Zayn doesn’t even bother hiding the way he rolls his eyes.  “You steal them every time he wears one…I knew they had to be around here somewhere.”

 

“That’s because I hate them,” Louis says, stubbornly avoiding Zayn’s eyes.  He can’t have Zayn thinking he keeps them because they’re _Liam’s_ or something.  “They’re stupid.”

 

“Whatever you say.”  Zayn clearly doesn’t believe him, but he drops it in favor of making loops out of the extra fabric from the ceiling and walls and using the handkerchiefs to bind them tightly together.  It holds surprisingly well and Louis gratefully follows suit.  In light of the strange feelings that have been settling into his bones the past few days, this isn’t a conversation he’s ready to have.

 

Once the walls are constructed, Zayn drapes Niall’s Irish flag over the doorway as the final touch.  Louis steps back to admire their handy work, propping his hands on his hips and smiling to himself.  The fort is small and a little bit saggy in the middle, but it’s colorful and homey and has a little bit of each of them in it, whether it be Harry’s duvet or Liam’s stupid hankies or Louis’ favorite down pillow from home.  It’s everything a blanket fort is supposed to be.  “I like it,” Louis decides, satisfied.  “And, more importantly, I think Niall will, too!”

 

“Well, there’s only one thing left to do,” Zayn muses, pulling the flag to the side and gesturing inside the shelter.  “Let’s try it out!”

 

Letting out a whoop, Louis falls to his knees and crawls inside, Zayn hot on his heels.  It’s cramped, but once they lay down with pillows propped behind their heads, it’s actually very comfortable. 

 

It’s even better when Zayn turns toward him with a smile so sweet Louis thinks he might melt or die or both.  He rests his head on Louis’ chest like a pillow, cuddling so close Louis can feel Zayn’s impossibly long eyelashes fluttering against his neck.  It makes goose bumps rise on his skin.  “This is nice,” he whispers, not trusting his voice not to shake.  “Once he sees this, Niall will _have_ to date me.”

 

Instead of answering, Zayn drums his fingers lazily against Louis’ belly, making a quiet humming sound.  “You know it’s okay, right?” he asks carefully, tracing small circles around Louis’ belly button, his fingers catching a bit on the rough t-shirt.  Butterflies start beating their little wings in Louis’ stomach – he hardly dares to breathe.  “It’s okay that you don’t hate Liam’s handkerchiefs.”

 

Louis freezes in place, just barely managing not to go completely rigid and wound tight.  Because something has shifted – he can feel it in the air and he doesn’t much like it.  “They’re stupid,” he says again even though he knows they stopped talking about handkerchiefs a long time ago.  But playing dumb is preferable to admitting what he – and Zayn – knows to be true.  He can’t do this right now…he really can’t.

 

But apparently Zayn can, because he clutches Louis even closer as if he’s afraid Louis will run away and adds, his voice quiet and so, so gentle, “And it’s okay that you don’t hate Harry’s, either.”

 

“Harry doesn’t have handkerchiefs,” Louis protests a bit desperately, burying his face into the top of Zayn’s head to hide from the world.  Zayn’s always had a way of making him vulnerable, of stripping him bare and reminding him that he’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is.  He loves it and hates it in equal parts.  “If anything, they’re scarves.”

 

“I know.”  Zayn says it in a whisper and Louis’ heart pounds so hard he’s almost convinced he can hear it.  He feels warm and cold at the same time and, suddenly, he can’t stop shivering.  It makes his teeth click together and his fingers tremble where they’re clenched around Zayn’s skinny wrists.  “It’s alright.”

 

All at once, Louis wants to kiss him, too.  And this time he’s not even surprised…it just completes the circle, really.  “If you had handkerchiefs, I’d love them,” Louis admits, knowing that the metaphor is quickly passing from clever into senseless but too afraid to say what he really means.  Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, judging by the way he nuzzles into Louis’ shoulder. 

 

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, reflecting.  Or, at least, Louis is reflecting…Zayn could very well be asleep.  He hasn’t moved in a good five minutes. 

 

Just as Louis is contemplating a nap of his own, the lounge door swings open, making Zayn jerk in surprise and fly up to a sitting position.  “What the hell?” he grouses, rubbing his eyes.  “I thought we locked the door.”

 

“You do realize we all have keys, right?” Liam’s voice says from outside the fort.  Then the Irish flag moves aside and he crawls into the fortress, settling down on Louis’ other side.  Louis is secretly very happy about this development.  He slides a bit closer as casually as he can.  “This may be your bus, but it’s not _actually_ your bus.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Zayn groans, sounding for all the world like he’s just been awakened from a long night of sleep rather than a five minute cat nap.  Louis reaches over to ruffle his hair fondly.  Zayn’s so cute when he’s sleepy, which is basically always.

 

Next, Harry’s face pops into sight, grinning widely.  “We just came to see how the Love Hut is going!” he explains, beaming with excitement as he sits just inside the doorway.  He doesn’t have anything hanging from his hair today, but he doesn’t have to…he still looks ridiculous.  “Wanted to make sure the mood was right.”

 

Louis laughs, shaking his head.  “Mostly I think it’s just kinda sweaty,” he admits, putting his arms around Zayn and Liam and pulling them in.  They go easily and he tries to ignore the way it makes his stomach flutter.

 

“But it’s sweaty with _loooove_ ,” Harry says dreamily, drawing out the words and batting his eyelashes ridiculously.  “And pretty soon you’re going to have a man to share it with!”

 

Louis can feel Zayn’s eyes on him and he tries not to blush.  Harry doesn’t even know the half of it.

 

Dying to take the attention off of himself, Louis does the first thing he can think of: he jabs Liam in the ribs as hard as he can.  “ _Shit_ ,” Liam swears, jackknifing in pain and hitting his head off the bus wall.  “What was that for?”

 

Louis grins impishly.  “No reason!”

 

Scowling, Liam dives at him, pinning him to the ground and poking him repeatedly in the face until Louis is twitching in annoyance, begging for mercy.  Liam doesn’t relent, just pokes harder.  After one particularly emphatic blow, Louis flings his arms out in self-defense, accidentally smacking Zayn in the side of the head.  He barely registers Zayn’s shout of _Harry!_ but it’s clear what happened when Harry’s voice joins the din, protesting wildly, “It wasn’t me!”  

 

Of course it’s then that the lounge door opens again and Louis hears a shout of, “What the fuck is going on here?”  Louis’ body instantly goes still beneath Liam, all the fight leaving him.  It’s Niall and they’re a literal mess _._  

 

Mind reeling, Louis pushes Liam off and stands straight up, taking down the entire fort.  A chorus of annoyed shouts echo from beneath the pile of blankets but Louis doesn’t care, because it’s _Niall_ and they’re a literal _mess._   “Niall!” he cries, knowing he probably looks deranged.  “You’re here!”

 

“Yeah…”  Niall stares down at the moving lumps of bandmates under the bedding, his forehead crinkling.  Something is written in his eyes, but Louis can’t figure out what it is.  “You made a fort?” he questions slowly, even though the answer is obvious.  Then his voice cracks a little, going impossibly quiet.  “And you didn’t want to invite me?”

 

It’s then that Louis realizes that Niall is _hurt_.  Really, really hurt.  “No!” he cries desperately, literally tripping all over himself to rush to Niall’s side.  This is all so _wrong_ and Louis is borderline panicking.  He grabs Niall’s hand.  “No, this fort is for _you_!”

 

“For me,” Niall repeats flatly, like he doesn’t believe it.  Somewhere in the background, Harry, Liam, and Zayn finally manage to pull themselves from the wreckage, but Louis hardly notices. 

 

“Yes.  For you.”  Then Louis sighs, swiping his hand down his face while he tries to center himself.  He knows he’s going to have to come clean.  “Okay, the truth is…”  He trails off, feeling nervous and stupid.

 

Niall just looks at him, waiting.  “The truth is…?”

 

“The truth is I like you a lot and I’ve been trying to woo you, but it hasn’t been working very well,” Louis says all in a rush, feeling himself go red to the tip of his ears.  He doesn’t know why it’s so hard to say out loud.  “The fort was for you…we were supposed to hang out together!  But then this happened.”  He gestures helplessly at the ruins.  “See?”

 

“Well, thank you…no one’s ever made me a pile of blankets before,” Niall jokes, slowly turning back into his cheerful self.  Then the rest of Louis’ confession seems to sink in and his eyes widen.  “Wait…you were trying to _woo_ me?!”

 

“It was my idea!” Harry pipes up from across the way, reminding Louis that he and Niall are not alone in the lounge.  It makes him feel a bit sick.

 

Niall doesn’t even seem to hear him.  “The flowers and the lasagna?” he chokes out in disbelief, but it’s clearly a rhetorical question so Louis keeps his mouth shut.  “And all the extra attention?”

 

Louis nods, waiting for the verdict with bated breath.  He’s not sure he’s ever been this scared in his life.

 

After a couple seconds’ hesitation, Niall breaks into peals of laughter and throws himself onto the sofa.  “What the heck,” he wheezes, covering his face with his hands.  “That makes me feel so much better, _fuck_!  I thought you’d gone off the deep-end, Lou…I thought you were a right nutter!”

 

“Yeah, well… _they_ all want to kiss you, too!” Louis cries defensively, embarrassed and scrambling for anything to pull the situation back into his grasp.  “It’s not just me!”

 

“Oh my gosh!” Zayn exclaims, throwing his hands into the air as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.  “Louis, are you serious?”

 

“What?” Louis snaps, wishing he could burrow beneath the blankets and never come out again.  “It’s true…you all said it!”  He quickly turns to Niall, desperate for someone to be on his side.  “They did!”

 

Niall is curled into a little ball of laughter – Louis wishes he could tell whether it was his real laugh or his nervous laugh – but that makes him sit up.  “I’m not gonna lie…not only is that super flattering, it’s also a load off my mind,” Niall admits between giggles, his gaze shifting from one bandmate to another, a happy smile spread across his face.  “Because I’ve been trying to keep my lips off you guys for four years.”  Then he shoots Louis an apologetic glance as if he’s worried that he’ll hurt his feelings.  “You too, of course, mate.  But maybe not _only_ you…?”

 

It should be disappointing.  Louis should feel distressed or annoyed or _something_ , but instead he feels a heavy weight lift off his shoulders because, for the first time, he realizes he’s not crazy.  He’s not crazy and he’s definitely not alone.  The discovery gives him the courage to finally say out loud what he’d been trying to hide even from himself.  “I feel the same way!”

 

The bus goes silent as his bandmates all turn to stare at him.  Everyone, that is, except Zayn who is smirking knowingly.  Louis just barely fights off the urge to stick his tongue out at him like a little kid.

 

Harry takes a few hesitant steps toward Louis.  “You want to kiss us…?” he asks, looking for confirmation.  There is barely concealed hope in his eyes.  “Or you want to date us?”

 

“Both,” Louis confesses, knowing it’s true.  It’s too late to avoid it now and, honestly, he’s not sure he even wants to.

 

Harry’s face just about splits in two when he breaks into a grin.  “Oh thank God!” he cries, relieved.  Louis can only laugh in response, feeling happier than he has in a very long time.

 

In the corner of the lounge, Liam finally speaks up from where he’s been musing in silence.  “So it’s like that, then?”  When they all nod, he scratches at his beard very seriously.  “Alright.  Niall, would you like to do the honors?”

 

Confused as to what Liam could possibly mean, Louis doesn’t see Niall coming until he’s about an inch away from his face.  “Pucker up, Tommo,” Niall orders, his blue eyes dancing merrily.  “All your dreams are about to come true.”

 

And with that, Niall leans in and kisses him.

 

It takes Louis a second to catch up, but when he does, he makes a happy sound and twists his fingers into the hair at the back of Niall’s head, kissing him back.  It’s not perfect – their lips are chapped and their hands tremble – but it’s good.  It’s so, so good.  It’s the best kiss Louis has ever had.

 

When they pull away, Zayn and Harry are kissing on the sofa.  Even from across the lounge Louis can see that they’re smiling into each other’s mouths and it makes his skin buzz with joy.  It feels right, seeing them together.  Like it was destined or something. 

 

Louis tucks that thought away for later, focusing on more important, more pressing matters.  As if they have one mind, he and Niall grin at each other, then race across the blanket pile to attack Liam, pressing kisses all over his face until Liam is pink-cheeked and teary-eyed and beautiful.  It makes Louis want to cry, too, a little.

 

But that can wait, because right now he’s got two more bandmates to kiss.  And something tells him it’s going to be pretty fucking great.

 

\---

 

“You could have just asked, you know.”  Niall looks up from where his head is pillowed on Louis’ thighs.  “You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

 

Smiling, Louis gently cards his fingers through Niall’s hair.  “Eh, I didn’t actually do much,” he laughs.  “Liam picked the flowers and Harry made the lasagna and Zayn figured out how to put the fort up.  I just took all the credit.”

 

Niall snorts.  “Why does that not shock me?” he teases, his nose wrinkling cutely in amusement.  “Remind me why we keep you around?”

 

It’s clearly a joke, but for once Louis feels like being sincere.  “Because we’re better together,” he answers softly, blushing a little.  “The five of us.”

 

Niall groans, turning to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist.  “You’re such a sap, bro,” he complains, his words muffled against Louis’ stomach.  But he doesn’t let go and that has to mean something.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
